


It Is What It Is

by Turtles1099



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, My First Fanfic, Mycroft is a Bit Not Good, Possible Character Death, Sherlock Is Not Okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 06:52:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9589586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtles1099/pseuds/Turtles1099
Summary: So hey Sherlock fandom! This is my very first fanfic and is also the first chapter in what may be many chapters depending on the feedback I get. Suggestions are welcomed and I'm still not sure where I'm gonna take this. Thanks in advance!





	

**Author's Note:**

> So hey Sherlock fandom! This is my very first fanfic and is also the first chapter in what may be many chapters depending on the feedback I get. Suggestions are welcomed and I'm still not sure where I'm gonna take this. Thanks in advance!

_“It is what it is.”_ The words bounce and echo within Sherlock’s head like footsteps down the linoleum hallways of a morgue, on the way to identify what’s dead and gone. Funny how the people, their physical forms leave those they love behind, and yet the hallways of the morgue stay; their memories bouncing around and stabbing like a knife to those who love them most. A morgue never felt cold or sad to Sherlock. He'd almost found it homey after spending hours beating a body of whom he didn't know or being beat; props to his best friend John Watson. Oh God. John. How could he go on.  
A hand laid on his shoulder like a dead weight pulling him to his knees. _“_ No flowers." The familiarity of that hand saved him. "Yes, he did say that didn't he," stated Sherlock. The weight of the hand was unforgiving and caused his knees to buckle beneath him. Falling to the floor, he didn't notice the shock wave of pain that started as his knees hit the floor and worked its way up to his already rattled brain.  
"Brother mine," Sherlock whispered.  
"Sherlock, I know this is hard for you, but know that I'm here." Here? He was here? In frustration he sat up and looked back.  
"Mycroft?" But it wasn't Mycroft. It couldn't be. He looked up into the concerned eyes of his one true friend John Watson and instantly lost control. He felt the blood in his veins boil at the unfairness of it all and clenched his fists. "The truth is rarely pure and never simple." His brother's words brought on a new wave of anger because he knew it was true. He now focused his attention on the linoleum beneath his hands and began to see a face arise from the circular pattern that littered the floor. A face he knew all too well.  
Those dead eyes were like that of a fish and the sneer plastered on that face could make any sane person sick. Moriarty. He was responsible for all of this. This never-ending torture and fear this monster had contrived. Soon the faces he was seeing seemed to move and smile at him. He closed his eyes vaguely aware of John shouting at him seemingly miles away but he was already too far gone; being sucked into his own mind palace. When he opened his eyes he was face to face with Moriarty. He jumped back and tried to shake the image away being unsuccessful. He sat back feeling the weight of his own body against his hands on the cold floor. Moriarty walked circles around Sherlock seeming to be sizing up the situation.  
"Oh Sherlock, he mocked. You didn't think I'd really left did you." "What was it you once said? That you can't get rid of an idea once it's made a home here, he said touching Sherlock's forehead. His touch was cold like icy tendrils encasing his whole being and drowning him. Deep waters.  
"You can't kill the idea of me can you Sherlock? I love that about you baby." Sherlock furrowed his brows in confusion. What was going on? His confusion soon turned to an angry scowl.  
"Get out of my head!" Sherlock screamed. Moriarty was completely unfazed by the sudden outburst. He quickly and efficiently pushed Sherlock onto his back and sat on his chest straddling his torso. He then grabbed both of Sherlock's wrists and pinned them to the floor. He leaned in and Sherlock could feel his breath on his neck as Moriarty lay a tongue along his Adam's apple and down his neck. Sherlock turned his head to the side utterly repulsed by the contact. A single warm tear slid along the side of his face as he lay helpless on the cold floor.  
"Stop." Sherlock barely whispered through sobs that racked his whole body. Moriarty pulled back and licked his cracked lips leaving a glistening sheath of blood.  
"Stop?" Moriarty gave a crooked smile releasing Sherlock's hands. Despite this new freedom Sherlock couldn't move and lay helpless as Moriarty carefully pulled Sherlock's scarf away. He then began to efficiently unbutton Sherlock's black shirt unveiling bare skin beneath. Sherlock managed to summon enough energy and lifted a single hand to push defensively against Moriarty stopping him after two buttons. The cold air against his exposed chest was paralyzing.  
"You're not real. You're dead." Sherlock growled. Moriarty was one step ahead despite Sherlock's honest efforts.  
"Your memory of me is very real as far as I can tell." Moriarty decisively looked to his right at the metal gurney where a body lay covered by a pure white sheet. A familiar hand stuck out from underneath and Sherlock's gut wrenched as he jerked his head away from the ghastly sight. His only brother who loved him so dearly wad dead.  
"I'm not the only one who's dead here am I? Such a shame, he was always the smart one." He was the smart one. But not as quick on his feet. His downfall I suppose.

"Get out of my head!"  
John watched as Sherlock fell back onto the floor and grimaced with his hands at his sides unmoving yet his fists where clenched exposing white knuckles. He began to sob and mutter quietly through the tears. John had never seen his friend like this before. It tore him up as he thought of all the times he'd put him through agony. He'd been half convinced Sherlock was incapable of emotion up until their recent encounter with his insane sister Eurus.  
"Sherlock?" As John leaned down to help, Sherlock's back arched and he turned his head to the side seeming to be unable to get away from something. John quickly got down on the floor and pulled Sherlock's scarf off to check his pulse. It was rapid and erratic. Oh God. What was happening? He noticed a red mark at Sherlock's neck that ran down under his shirt. He quickly started to unbutton Sherlock's shirt but after two buttons Sherlock reached out and grasped the front of John's jacket but his eyes were elsewhere. He followed them to where his brother lay. "You're not real," Sherlock angrily stated. "You're dead." Confused, John knew Sherlock must be fighting his own inner demons.  
"No, Sherlock, I'm here!" John yelled. He shook Sherlock's shoulders aggressively with no effect. What could he do? He decisively put his hands around Sherlock's face and turned those piercing blue eyes to face him. "Where are you Sherlock?" John whispered looking into glazed eyes. "The game is never over Sherlock, he whispered as he pressed his forehead against Sherlock's.


End file.
